Most communication had shifted to digital through the Wammy organization's network, yet many affairs still needed to be conducted on paper. Mail flooded in every day, like any other social institution—government papers, bills, and school correspondence for children attending classes outside the institution, all contributing to the orphanage's seemingly ordinary image. Still, to be extra cautious, only selected, trustworthy individuals delivered Wammy's House's mail, a result of Watari's agreement with the local post office.

And that was the very reason Roger Ruvie held back the urge to tear down the mailbox outside.

"Good day, Mr. Ruvie," greeted the mailman. He wore a broad, shiny smile that seemed almost disconnected by the presence of his nose, and would make anyone question why he had such a great mood—quite the contrast to Roger's sullen expression.

"To you too, Albert," Roger grunted as he plodded toward the gates where the mailman stood by his bike.

"Pardon me, sir, but you have some…is that peanut butter on your jaw?" Albert signalled Roger by pointing at his own jaw.

"Huh? Argh." Roger wiped the speck off his face. "Not a day without chaos."

"Having a hard morning, eh?" The mailman handed Roger a pile of letters. "You know, I have two children, a good thing that before they wake up I'll be at work, leaving them with their Mum tackling the morning. Couldn't believe how you managed to take care of all those children here- "

"Just some boys having a food fight. That's all." Roger replied, not looking up as he sifted through the letters.

"You could use a helping hand," said Albert. He looked over the orphanage manager's shoulders, "O'Wammy not around today, huh?"

"He's rarely around," grunted Roger, adjusting his glasses. "I'll mark your words, would need to ask Quillsh about recruiting another staff."

Roger shot him a glare over the lenses. "So, you rang the intercom. Registered mail?"

Albert reached into his bag and pulled out a letter. "Here you go."

The windowed envelope bore the familiar recipient's name, along with an official stamp and logo. Roger wasn't surprised; in fact, he and Quillsh Wammy had been expecting this letter. What did surprise him, though, was how quickly this day had arrived.

"Wammy's got himself a law student, hasn't he?" Albert asked, trying to sneak a peek.

"He sure did," Roger didn't gave him a glance, and continued to sift quickly through the rest. Ads… bills… a postcard from K? Where sent? Mexico? Silly girl...

"That girl's name- it's always on letters from music institutions and film studios. I thought Wammy was grooming a conductor if I had to guess; Isn't she the one that attends that Japanese school? Weird of O'Wammy wanting to send a child there, to be honest. Mostly, Japanese diaspora children go there. Does that mean she is Japanese? Not the first Japanese child in Wammy's, innit? Is she the brightest? Or is it some other concern that Wammy sent her there? You know my great great grandfather had this Japanese samurai armour that he was gifted from —"

"Albert," interrupted Roger, glaring at him. "That's enough."

"Oh," said Albert. "Sorry. Didn't mean to be nosy."

"But you still did it," snapped Roger. "Now move along before I ask Wammy to find me a new mailman."

"Hello?"

"It's me." The familiar gruff voice of his reliable partner.

"Roger. How's everything?"

"Not good. As always. You'll have to find me another staff member to help out."

Watari raised an eyebrow. "Having a bit of trouble, are we?"

"I'm getting old, Quillsh. You can't expect me to keep up chasing after children."

"You were one of the best in MI6, Roger. Bullets and the Cold War couldn't bring you down, let alone a few little rascals."

"Bullets didn't take me down, true, but they left me with a pair of sore ankles that could predict bad weather. My bones will be shattered if I don't get some help in the House. And MI6? That was a lifetime ago."

Roger sounded older than he really was when he complained. Quillsh Wammy swallowed a chuckle before replying, "I'll see what I can do."

"Make it quick."

"I'll do my best," sighed Watari. "But you know how hard it is to find someone both trustworthy and willing to care for orphans."

"Well, at least don't procrastinate. You've got a bad record for taking ages to decide. This time, sort it before the end of June."

"End of June? That hardly leaves me any time."

"That's your problem."

He certainly is desperate. "I'll hurry. How's the new boy doing?"

"You certainly have a knack for finding the odd ones, Quillsh. Is it becoming a bit of a hobby? Collecting unusual orphans?"

Watari grinned at Roger's remark. "It's 'potential,' Roger. Potential. Not 'odd.' He reminds me of our detective. A natural. And a puzzle lover; I expect he'll finish all the puzzles in the game room."

"Behavior-wise, perhaps. But he's not as capricious as him. At least I haven't heard any complaints about him hoarding toys," said Roger. "He's... a good boy. Not in the well-mannered sense, but the quiet, inactive kind. Have you come up with his alias yet? I can't keep calling him 'Hey!' 'You,' you know."

"I'm still mulling it over. Reading the reports that you sent me might give me a better understanding of him. For now, I've decided that it will start with the letter 'N'... But I'm still working on it."

"Surely it can't be that difficult? There are plenty of decent names."

"I prefer to take my time. It's not easy finding the right name, especially when I have such high hopes for these children. It needs to have meaning, not just be plucked out of thin air. We're not naming pets."

"Code names carry messages, but perhaps aliases don't need to."

"Why not take both seriously?"

"Fine. Think faster then."

"I'll do my best. Any other good news? I could do with some more," said Watari. "The boy just rejected six cases without reason. It's frustrating. I thought I had chosen cases that would interest him."

"He's no longer a boy now, Quillsh. It's not his first-time cherry-picking cases; he's got his own mind. You should be used to it by now," Roger's tone was dripping with nonchalance. "As for the good news, we received a registered post today. I think you'll be interested in reading it."

"By the way, that postman is annoying," added Roger.

The corners of Watari's eyes crinkled. "You always complain about Albert. I find him quite, entertaining."

"He's too nosy. Small talk is not required in delivering the post."

"Let him be. If I had to find a new postman, the staffing issue would be pushed back. What would you prefer?"

"Alright, keep the postman, but I really need that extra staff. I'll fax you the letter."

"Thanks, Roger. I appreciate all the help."

A child's voice interrupted through the phone. "Mr. Ruvie, there's something smelly in the garden—"

"Coming!" Roger likely shouted, though the sound was muffled by his hand over the receiver. "Gotta go, Quillsh. Remember- new staff."

The phone hung up. Soon, the whirling of the fax machine followed, accompanied by a long squeal, and then the document rolled out within seconds, slipped into waiting fingers.

He adjusted his lens and read.

Dear Ms. Saotome,

We are glad to inform you that the Committee of Admissions has offered you a place in our law school course.

The rest was unnecessary. That's all he needed.

He took off his glasses and leaned back in the chair. Saotome Rin. Another alias. Not one that he named, no. And certainly no connection to her true name. Meredith picked it herself: He remembered their last meeting before her application. "A new start needs a new name. Though my Japanese peers didn't mind calling me Meri, I thought an alias that's more culturally appropriate would make more sense."

Decisive as she seemed, she had likely pondered that decision for days, weeks, or even months. She was a careful thinker, cautious about her choices, but snappy once she reached a conclusion. He had voiced his concerns—after all, those who knew her as Meredith might find it surprising to encounter her as Saotome Rin. But she had been firm. "I've calculated that if I finish law school on time, the chances of meeting anyone are quite low. And when it comes to the name inconsistency, I learned that they are used to having 'foreign names' for pronunciation purposes, which gives an explanation if they ever encounter me going by Saotome… As for my middle school classmates…well, they barely knew I existed. The same probably goes for my high school classmates, too."

It may have sounded pathetic to outsiders if any average adult had heard this. They would think that she was a loner. At least that was Roger's impression. Sometimes Watari considered Roger to be the most normal person in the institution, which Roger himself strongly agreed with: "You have no idea how I go through each day. They are genius for making up new things to take my years off."

Not to Wammy's House students. Those who studied outside the institution were socially capable enough to maintain normalcy, but they also knew how to remain unmemorable—especially those who planned to continue working on Wammy's organisation's assignments.

Not that Watari didn't respect her decision; in fact, he tended not to interfere much with such matters and would do his best to support what they wanted to accomplish. If she wished to pursue this path, he would aid her. Creating a credible identity for school applications wasn't difficult for someone like Watari, with all his connections and influence, whether through legal channels or the underworld. He had sent notable graduates into diverse fields: K to Professor Nikaido, D into the field of invention, F into intelligence, and the late V to NASA, who passed away due to a failed experiment explosion. Watari still blamed himself. If he hadn't pushed V, he might still be here. The star-gazing boy whose life stopped at age 22. Too young to die.

"Watari, what is it?" L approached the door of Watari's study, frowning. "I've been calling you."

Watari snapped out of his thoughts. "Just routine calls from Roger. Sorry to keep you waiting."

"What's that?" L asked, eyeing the letter in Watari's hand.

"This?" Watari held up the letter, noticing L's curiosity. "Just some updates and news. I think you might find it interesting."

He handed the letter to L. Silence filled the room for a few minutes as L read the letter. Watari couldn't tell if he was reading it repeatedly or just slowly, but he decided to break the silence anyway.

"Time flies."

No response. The usual kind.

"Autumn term starts at the end of August."

"I'm fully aware," L replied curtly, setting the letter aside and hopping onto a chair. "Why did she change the name?"

"A new start needed a new name, she said."

"…Or giving up on her music identity," muttered L, gazing at the letter again.

"Perhaps."

"Was it your decision?" L stared at Watari.

"No," said Watari. "It's hers. I never interfered."

"I see."

The detective looked away, seemingly pondering while chewing on his thumb. There was a subtle frown on his expression that was rarely observed by Watari.

"Something troubling you?"

L pursed his lips, remaining silent. Being the first to leave Wammy's House, visiting her, and then leaving with her watching them go—he was always the one leaving. A year ago, he wouldn't have felt so mixed up inside. Back then, he had expected she would eventually leave Wammy's House, and the old him would have seen it as perfectly normal. But now… Watari was right. Time flies, and it's flying too fast.

"No," L's tone softened. "Just thinking. I feel like I should have some reaction to this." He tapped the letter.

"It's the thought that counts," Watari said.

"You have something in mind?"

"Out of my own preference, I was thinking about a camera, but given the secrecy policy, I'd have to confiscate the memory chip if she took photos of Wammy's House or its members."

"That's no fun."

"I know. It's not conclusive. There are plenty of other options."

It's the thought that counts…which means anything could be an expression. Anything.

The detective looked up at Watari. "About that last case I rejected—what was the amount of money again?"

"About six million dollars, why do you ask?"

"There's something I want to buy."

Watari adjusted his glasses and pulled out a document file from the pile before him. "Under which name?"

"Eraldo Coil. Don't you think that case suits Coil very well?" L smirked, chewing his thumb.

The image L created of Coil was entirely different from the original. The old Coil never took cases based on the amount of money. And he wasn't skilled at locating people.

Watari had a feeling that L was up to no good.

A few weeks passed after the notification of enrollment. Administrative work and preparations for leaving the institution kept Meredith busy, along with finishing all the composition projects at hand and contacting studios to inform them of a hiatus in accepting new projects, while also expressing appreciation for past collaborations.

Watari paid a few visits, but to her disappointment, L was mostly absent. Watari mentioned that "he was engrossed in a new case and facing some difficulties, but everything was fine." She hadn't seen L since receiving the news, but they still spoke frequently over the phone. Their conversations remained light and casual, yet neither seemed willing to revisit what L had really meant under that plum tree that day. He didn't bring it up again, and she didn't dare to, making sure to keep herself busy during the day to avoid dwelling on it too much.

It turned out that the foul smell in the garden was from a dead cat, buried rather haphazardly. The odour attracted flies and maggots, which drew the children's attention to the corpse. She stood beside Roger that day as the manager examined the body. There was a deep cut in the cat's throat, but it wasn't the fatal injury.

"It seems it was intentionally cut to destroy the vocal cords," Roger observed while pinching his nose. The corpse bore multiple wounds—cuts, stabs, abrasions, punctures, shaves, straining, and lacerations—as if every possible form of injury had been inflicted on the poor animal. Teeth were pulled out, eyes were punctured with nails; not an inch had been spared from torture.

"And then?" L's monotone voice on the phone interrupted her thoughts.

"Oh—um—" Meredith snapped out of her daze. "We buried it in the nearby fields, digging the pit quite deep to avoid any odour."

"It's obviously one of the children did it."

Meredith hummed in agreement. "No one could possibly get onto the grounds and bury a dead cat without triggering the gate security system, and there was no sign of any child bringing a cat back."

"An unlucky stray," remarked L, with no sign of empathy in his tone.

"Roger said he would investigate."

"I doubt he'll find anything." L replied. "The culprit intended for the cat to be discovered and is confident no one will uncover their identity. In my opinion, the person wasn't focused on killing but on experimenting with various methods. If intended to kill, a stab to the heart or spine would have been the fastest way. This wasn't about thrill or joy; no emotions were involved. The cat was simply a tool."

"If it's more about experimenting… are you suggesting that someone in the institution is learning about different methods of inflicting injuries?"

"Perhaps. The subject itself is neutral. I have to recognise various wounds during investigations, even with a coroner involved. It gives you a better understanding of how it happened. Saves time, too."

"You don't have to learn how to recognise wounds by killing a cat to carry out the methods," muttered Meredith.

"You don't. One must be lacking in intelligence to have to learn this subject this way."

There was a brief pause on the other end, as if he were considering her reaction. "We should go on a trip before you leave Wammy's House," L uttered suddenly, catching Meredith slightly off guard with the abrupt change in topic.

"A trip?"

"Yes, to celebrate your new start."

"Do you have a place in mind?"

"I do." L said with quiet certainty.

A slight smile tugged at the corner of her lips, despite her confusion. "Where?"

"It's a surprise."

"Okay…" This was getting suspicious. L coming up with ideas for trips was definitely new. "…And when?"

"Three days later. I'll text you the time, latitude and longitude coordinates for our meeting point."

Coordinates? "Being mysterious, aren't you?"

"I told you, it's a surprise."

The coordinates indicated that it was a 20-minute ride from the orphanage—a considerable distance, so she decided to bike to the meeting location. The journey took her through a rural part of Winchester she had never visited, even during her aimless strolls. She passed by familiar meadows, the lavender field, and the creek where she and L had once had a picnic. As she pedaled further and neared her destination, a dense row of trees blocked her path. Meredith chained her bike to a road sign and walked into the woods, map in hand. She continued her trek until she reached a spacious clearing, precisely where the coordinates had led her.

Meredith checked both her phone and the map to confirm the location. This is the place, but... What is this place?

There were hardly any houses nearby, and no one else in sight—only plants and bare land, which might have been suitable for clay pigeon shooting. She recalled sitting at a shooting range once, watching Watari and Roger train their marksmanship. Looking around now, she searched for any sign of human civilization but could only spot a distant aircraft flying across the endless sky.

She checked the time: 13:00. L should have arrived by now. Maybe she should give him a call.

The sound of the helicopter grew louder, and she squinted at the aircraft in the sky. Judging by its size, she guessed it was a light utility helicopter—something she had learned from L gushing about helicopters and his progress in learning about them—but she couldn't identify the specific variant. If L were here, he would probably recognize it immediately, she thought.

The helicopter didn't recede. Instead, it flew closer, and just as she thought it might soar overhead, it hovered for a few moments before starting to descend. Dust and sand swirled up, forming a mini sandstorm and causing the plants to sway vigorously. Meredith instinctively took a step back, shielding her face with her arm to block the gust of wind and debris.

It didn't take her long to figure out what was going on.

There were only a few occasions that pushed Meredith to the brink of swearing, but fortunately, she hadn't. The rare times she actually did could be counted on one hand. That day was one of them.

"L, you idiot!"